Okay, this is a short one, sorry.  More's coming.

--Aimes

Flashback

The war had been raging for lifetimes.  Her body ached from the battles she had fought.

Scars laced her back from one of her captures…she had not been able to have them treated soon enough to avoid scarring.  She remembered being whipped mercilessly, beaten, raped, and violated in every imaginable way.  She remembered the gentle caress of Snape, treating her wounds as best he could.  Knowing that whether or not they despised each other, this gentle touch was all she had.  And it was all she needed to hold out.  But that was not the issue now.  It was irrelevant.  All that mattered was the goal.

She had to win.  If she didn't, she died. 

Hermione reached for her wand and entered the great hall.  She had graduated only months earlier, and experienced an eerie sense of déjà vu.  Hermione walked in and began throwing curses.  The war had almost been lost: Hogwarts, the last bastion of the Resistance, had fallen.  The Order went into hiding.

Dumbledore quickly realized, however, that there was no hope without courage.  The offensive had been planned, and Hermione had taken a leading role.  She was introduced to Callah, who was experienced at tactical incursions.  Callah had quickly taken to Hermione, and the two of them, along with Snape, organized the invasion. 

The war raged around her, but she walked through untouched, firing off curses as quickly as she could, and resorting to her knife when required.  The knife daddy gave me to protect myself on the mean streets of London.  How ironic.

She saw the object of her hatred within reach.  Dayrin Lestrange.  Related to the infamous Bellatrix.  Who is currently battling it out with one livid Neville Longbottom.  He sees me.  And he knows I remember every single burning blow he inflicted.  Hermione aimed, and considered firing an unutterable.  In slow motion she saw his lips forming the curse, and her knife was in the air.  It flew true and struck him between the ribs. Die you bastard.

She looked up at the scene around her, easily dodging a stray curse.

Snape was watching her with and odd sadness about him, but he said nothing, merely nodded at her calmly.  She had lost nearly everything: now she was taking something back.  He understood.

Everyone was distracted by a commotion at the back of the room.

"You insufferable, ungrateful, demon of a child!  You shall pay for your disloyalty!"

Peter Pettigrew had seen Draco Malfoy deflect a curse aimed at Ginny Weasley.

Draco turned and dodged the blow that Pettigrew had aimed.  He looked up only to fall under the Crucio.  Voldemort had noticed him.  Christ!  Draco!  I've got to do something!  She sprinted toward the back of the room, only to see Draco go limp as Lucius fell, dead at the hands of the Dark Lord.  He saved Draco in the end…even though by all rights, Draco betrayed him.  Rather shocking, I must say.  Harry had taken the opportunity, and attacked Voldemort.  Harry was losing. 

Hermione was hit from behind with a curse.  Her energy spent, she watched the scene unfold.  Harry and Voldemort fought desperately, but it was Snape who decided the battle, rising behind Voldemort and slitting his throat.  Not killing him but weakening him and throwing him off balance long enough for Harry to win.

I didn't know he was using a knife…wait, that's MY knife!  Well, Daddy, you've got a taste of the justice you and mum deserve.  Snape glanced at her, then went back to work, finishing off Death Eaters.

Hermione allowed oblivion to lay claim.

End Flashback

Hermione awoke in her bed, snuggled in her pajamas, with a glass of water on the bedside table.  She sat up, took a sip of the water, and sank back down.  The emotions had finally hit her as she recounted the events to Snape, and she had shut down. 

He must've brought me here and helped me change.  The glass of water was a nice touch.  His way of showing he cares.  Amazing how you bond with someone when you're a prisoner being tortured.  And are then forced to relive that torture for a pensieve.

For all their bickering and sniping, it had been he who had picked her limp body off the floor of the Great Hall, and she knew he would do all in his power to protect her.  Her parents were long dead by the time of that final confrontation, and he had taken on the role of her guardian and protector by default.  Not that he was any nicer to her in general, but hey, she took what she could get.

Right then, Mya.  Get your lazy arse out of bed and find food.

She rolled out of bed and slid into her fuzzy slippers.  She grabbed her sweatshirt from the chair on the way out and pulled it over her head.  Hermione padded down to the kitchen and began rummaging around in the fridge.

Mmm…bacon…eggs…sausage.  English muffins are in the cabinet.  Ooh, ooh, orange tangerine juice!  Hermione pulled out the food and turned on the stove.

Half an hour later, the kitchen smelled heavenly, and Hermione was perched on the counter waiting for the tea to boil and gazing out the window.

"So glad you decided to rejoin the waking world, Hermione."